Page 1 of Locked Up by The Libra
Chapter One
Willa
If you do not stand for something, you will fall for anything.
What happens when you stand for everything? When you push back at everything you deem wrong and raise your voice, hoping to be heard? Well, people talk about you. They judge you. And they distance themselves from you.
Maybe that is what I wanted anyway. Distance from the people I grew up around. From the socialites and seclusion of being filthy rich. And by filthy rich, I mean my family’s money makes me feel dirty. For the past several years I have tried to wash away the dirty feeling by giving most of it away.
One of my best friends, Quinn VonMuth, started a game when we were in college. Whoever gave the most each semester won a stupid, cheap prize. One year it was a ridiculous pink Himalayan salt lamp shaped like a Buddha. Another it was a mushroom table complete with matching chairs.
That table is still in my apartment, and I adore it.
“No prizes, no photo ops for Instagram, just a chance to do the right thing.”
Quinn and her two other comrades, Brielle and Lennon had gone down to Driftwood, Georgia, to protest a greedy lumber company. Those three have always attacked things as a trio. They’ve traveled the world trying to right wrongs and save mankind.
While I trailed along after them plenty of times, I had always been more of a loner. I love those girls and have the best times with them, but it was always a square trying to fit in a circle. Or a triangle, as it were, I suppose.
Getting off the plane in Driftwood on a cool fall morning, I am second guessing coming down. We haven’t talked since they first headed down here. I expected at least a few messages after they pissed off the man or even wound up in the small county jail. No news could be good news, so I hope they’re up on that mountain raising hell.
“What is the best hotel in town?” I ask the young man who picked me up in an ancient looking taxi.
“Oh, there’s just one in town, miss. Driftwood Lodge. We get some traffic in town during the fall season, of course, but it’s pretty quiet around these parts most of the time. People go to True Ridge for the sites and Sunset Springs for the beaches. If they’re coming here, it’s usually to log with Felle Landing, hide away from the mafia, or get in touch with nature.”
Blinking at him, I just catch his smile in the rearview mirror. “You were kidding. About the getting in touch with nature,” I tease, laughing when he lets out a booming laugh.
“I might have been. Where are you from, Miss? You don’t look as if you might be here for logging. You hiding from the mob?”
Laughing again, I fall back against the battered seat. “No, sir. I am indeed here for the logging. Where can I learn more about Felle Landing?”
“Oh, Mack Felle’s office is right here on Main Street. If you want to talk to the loggers for a story or something, they can usually be found at The Rusty Nail bar. Or you can go up to the landing, but they don’t much like outsiders up there. Had some trouble with some protestors lately.”
“Did they now?” I hope those girls have raised some hell.
At the hotel, I thank him for his information and tip him well. Taking the one bag I brought, I get a room and get settled. It’s a cute little hotel, quaint with farmhouse décor and a huge, fluffy bed. Peeling out of my clothes, I decide a shower sounds divine.
After spending the past two weeks on the move, a nice long bath sounds better. Bubbles and bath bombs, face masks, a pedicure. That would be heavenly. Tiny shampoos and miniature bar soap will have to do until I get my ass back home.
This trip started with me in Pittsburgh, joining a protest for equal pay for women welders. We took the streets where the women showcased their skills for all to see. Once negotiations started, I flew off to Chicago to talk with some shelters about their needs for the coming holiday seasons.
“Now for some me time,” I mutter to myself drily.
Turning on the hot water, I am thankful it is indeed hot. Stepping beneath the shower, I drop the tiny towel I had wrapped around me. Sighing as the powerful spray works away the tension in my shoulders, I wonder to myself what the hell I am doing here.
Quinn hardly needs help taking down a logging crew. Brielle and Lennon being with her makes them a formidable force. If I can be honest with myself, even if I am not part of their triangle, I consider them friends.
“Sometimes we need a friend,” I mutter under the shower as I soap up my aching body.
I am lonely. Going all over the globe, snapping photos of me living the life while I try to save the world seems glamorous. It seems exciting and exotic. Sure, some of it is. Coming back to an empty hotel room after a day of fightingthe manis anything but.
It has been so long since I have had someone to come home to. So long since I have had a man touch me. I would give anything to feel rough hands on my skin instead of my own. Blunt fingers tracing my tattoos that cover my curves. I am so needy to feel pleasure, to feel wanted, to be adored, I am in tears as I stand beneath the shower.
A knock sounds at the door, startling me. Who could that be? Shutting off the water, I grab the towel and wait. Did I make that up? No, another heavy knock sounds, making me jump from the shower. Barely covering myself with the towel, I rush to the door without thinking.
“H-hello?” I stammer as I stand in the door, facing a stranger.
Oh. Oh my. Not just a stranger. A beautiful one. Tall and wide, he fills the entire doorway with his big body. Dark hair cropped short on the sides, but too long on the front, falls in his face. Hisgorgeousface. Deep gray eyes gaze down at me as we stand there in silence.
